Other Paths Taken: Convergence
by Cadsuane
Summary: Sequel to "Other Paths Taken: Divergence." Story picks up several months after the events in Divergence and continues to tell the tale of Alistair and Breonna.  Part 2 of 5 in the series.  Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

And here begins part 2 of 5 from the Other Paths Taken series. I hope to continue on the same once a week schedule as Divergence took. Again, rated "T" for now and will move to "M" when we get smutty.

We pick up several months after Alistair and Breonna's marriage, set at the beginning of the events in Awakening. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated! So if you liked it, please let me know. Enjoy!

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**Chapter One**

Vigil's Keep had been a _disaster_.

Alistair groaned and shifted in the saddle. When the First Warden had officially appointed Anora as the Warden-Commander, he'd been both relieved and apprehensive. Relieved because, while he never thought the duty would fall to him, he had more than enough on his plate already. The apprehension came because it meant seeing Anora again and he wasn't sure how she was going to react to his summons or her assignment.

After his coronation, she had retreated to Gwaren. He hadn't been expecting her to stay, not when he was marrying Breonna. Despite her words that she was fine with it, and her advice to him about it, he knew she wasn't quite so sanguine about the whole thing. He had had a lot of trouble adjusting to life without, first being alone and then being married to Breonna. Their relationship had seemed to settle into a firm friendship, though. Even if they didn't see eye-to-eye, she was still the oldest friend he had. Her sudden departure, quiet and without any goodbyes, had been a little hurtful. But he supposed by the end, they both needed some time apart.

He needn't have worried about her reaction. Anora had responded with alacrity, arriving in Denerim alone. The original plan had been for Alistair and a contingent of knights to go to Vigil's Keep after she had settled in and formally hand control of the arling over to her. There was still some grumbling among the Bannorn about Amaranthine just being given to the Grey Wardens and Alistair wanted to make sure it was clear that he still supported it wholeheartedly. If nothing else, that would make the trip worth it.

The continued reports of darkspawn activity had been worrying, but the last thing he had expected was for them to launch an all out assault on a Warden base. He'd felt the darkspawn before the keep was in sight, before the smell of fire and death reached them, and after sending a messenger back to Denerim to say they might be delayed, he spurred his men forward quickly. The last sense of the darkspawn had faded before they arrived, and it might have been wrong, but he was disappointed when it did. He'd been looking forward to fighting them, actually engaging in real combat beyond what he was allowed in the training yard in Denerim.

Even after he stopped sensing darkspawn, he hastened to the keep. There were sure to be wounded who needed assistance and he was worried about Anora. She had gone to Amaranthine with only a single recruit, wanting to make a low-key entrance and meet the men before all pomp and ceremony began. If anyone could handle a darkspawn assault, it was Anora. But if she had been caught alone….

His anxiety lessened when Anora came striding out of the gate to meet them. Introductions were brief and hurried, but what struck Alistair was not only how all right Anora was, but how _alive_ she seemed. Covered in gore, her keep on fire and filled with bodies behind her, and she was instantly and unquestionably in charge. Her eyes were bright, her words crisp and she was clearly eager to get started returning things to order. It reminded Alistair so much of what she had been like when they first began fighting the Blight that he felt a surge of nostalgia. _This_ was the Anora he had first met and become friends with.

The loss of all the Orlesian Wardens was bad, and he offered to have some of his men remain. Anora dismissed the idea. She had some recruits already, including Oghren—now _that_ was a surprise—and the runaway mage she had conscripted out from under the nose of the templars who had met up with him on the road, and assured him she would be fine. So his men spent several hours helping put out the fires, treat the wounded and dispose of bodies before finally remounting to leave. Alistair pulled Anora off to the side before he left.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Don't worry about me, Alistair. I can take care of myself."

"I know. I know that, but…." He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to phrase his concerns. "Listen, just be careful. I don't like the idea of leaving you here without what you need to protect yourself."

For a moment, her gaze softened. She laid a hand on his arm. "If half of what I've heard about the Bannorn is true, you're going to have your own troubles soon enough. You need your men. I'm the Warden-Commander now. I'll worry about Amaranthine and you worry about the rest of Ferelden."

He nodded. "If you're sure…. But you _will_ send word if you need help, understood? I'm not about to have people saying I let the Hero of Ferelden get herself killed because she was too stubborn."

She grinned at him, her expression sharply reminiscent of those early days before everything got so complicated between them, and saluted sharply. "Understood, your Majesty. Just don't expect to hear from me. Now," she gestured towards the road, "go home."

* * *

They arrived back in Denerim very late. After what had happened, Alistair wanted to get back to Denerim as quickly as possible in case Anora did call for aid. Doubts about leaving her there without added support continued to gnaw at him, and he pushed his men harder than he normally would because of it. There was some quiet grumbling, but it was quickly silenced whenever he drew near.

Guards opened the palace gates as they approached, and grooms ran out from the stables to begin taking the horses. The head groom came to take his own horse, and Neale, the captain of Alistair's royal guard, waited as he dismounted.

"Welcome home, your Majesty."

Alistair nodded his thanks. "Is there anyone still up in the kitchens?"

"There's usually at least a few people around during the night, ser. Shall I have the kitchens send something up to your rooms?"

"No, don't bother. Just have them throw something together and send it to the baths. I'm going there right after I get out of this armor and I really don't want to wait."

"Very good, your Majesty." The captain snapped his fingers and one of the younger squires came running. He was dispatched to the kitchens and the captain and two older squires followed Alistair into the armory. Once there, Alistair allowed the squires to remove his armor. It was something he normally liked to do himself, but he was tired enough tonight to let them do it instead.

He shrugged out of his gambeson, watching as the two squires began cleaning and oiling his armor. That was something he definitely did_ not_ miss about having to take care of his armor. And taking care of this set, all white metal and gold highlights, worked and etched in elaborate patterns, was no simple task.

He smiled slightly. It was, without a doubt, the best armor he'd ever owned. It had been a gift from Bryce Cousland. The teyrn had been grateful to Alistair for leaving Breonna on the throne, for not stripping her of titles and humiliating her. The entire Cousland family had been even more grateful when the soldiers Alistair sent to Ostagar to recover what they could had found Fergus captive among the Chasind. The man's injuries had been extensive, but a few weeks under Wynne's care and he'd been returned to almost complete health.

The scars from what Fergus had endured would always remain, but his family didn't care. They'd been practically beside themselves when news of his recovery had reached them. And at the Landsmeet four months ago, Bryce had shown up with this armor. The experience had been awkward for Alistair. The richness of the gift was more than a bit overwhelming. Other nobles had given him gifts since he ascended to the throne, and he had gotten fairly good at making the appropriate thanks to them, but this was something more personal. He thanked Bryce as best he could, tripping over his tongue a little bit, and was shocked when the older man pulled him into a rough hug. When Bryce finally released him, Alistair hadn't known what to say or do.

Bryce spoke first, "Thank you, your Majesty. I…owe you more than I can possibly say. This might be poor recompense for my family, but it's the least I can do."

"Thank you. I mean it. This is a gift…."

"Fit for a king?" Bryce laughed. "Indeed. And you've more than earned it. Enjoy it, though I sincerely hope you'll never need to use it for more than show." The teyrn paused for a moment, looking at him carefully. "I also wanted to say I appreciate how you've treated my daughter. She's a queen, and a strong woman, but she'll always be my pup. And you've been…kind to her. That means a lot to a father."

Alistair went scarlet when the meaning of Bryce's words sank in. Maker's breath, this was not a conversation he wanted to be having. "You're, uh, welcome, I guess," he managed to get out. "I, um, didn't think she would talk about that with, uh, _you_."

The teyrn grinned briefly. "Oh, I'm sure she'd be mortified if she knew, but Eleanor managed to tease some information out of her, which she promptly shared with me to ease my mind. I suggest we not tell her, though."

"Right. Sounds good to me," Alistair hurriedly agreed. "And do you mind calling me 'Alistair' when we're not in public? It's kind of weird. To hear you calling me 'your Majesty' I mean."

Bryce smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "It would be my pleasure, Alistair. You're a good man. Your father would've been proud of you. I know I couldn't ask for anything more in a son."

* * *

He had continued walking while he thought, and now he approached the bathing chamber, pleased to find one of the tubs already filled with steaming water, a small bench drawn up along side it holding a thick towel, a change of clean clothes, a platter of meats, cheeses and bread, and a flagon of ale with a mug beside it.

Stripping his clothes off and letting them fall into a pile on the floor, he sank into the hot water with a groan.

Maker, he was tired. It wasn't even the good tired that came from a fight or physical exertion. Just the weariness that comes from having too much to do, not enough time to do it and no place to sit and just catch your breath. He relaxed in the tub, allowing the hot water to ease all the little aches he hadn't even been aware of. Grabbing food off the platter as he soaked, he thought back more to what Bryce had said that day.

The compliments Bryce had given him had meant more to him than almost anything else since Duncan died. In the months since his coronation, he had been on the receiving end of more fawning and simpering praise than he'd ever heard in his life. Nobles went out of their way to bend over backwards and curry favor with him. It was sort of nice to be treated as important for once, but he always knew they saw him as title and power and not as a real person. And after awhile, it got very grating to be seen as a _thing_ and not as a person.

The Couslands, however, had accepted him, almost without question or reservation. Even though he was practically a stranger to them, they had never made him feel like an outsider. He was their king, of course, but they welcomed him as one of their own. For the first time in his life, Alistair had begun to see what actually having a family might be like.

Thoughts of a family automatically turned his thoughts to Breonna. He sighed and slid beneath the water until the need for air forced him back out. Grabbing a bar of soap and a washcloth, he began scrubbing off grime from the road, thinking about what he was going to do about his wife.

She confounded him. Their relationship had had its ups and downs since their wedding. As far as learning to be a king went, she had proven an excellent teacher. She guided him with a gentle hand, never poking fun at his lack of knowledge in things that must seem painfully obvious to her. Thankfully, he caught on fairly quickly and while he still had a lot to learn, she seemed delighted at his progress.

They disagreed on how to handle some things, of course, and she preferred to make sure things were decided before making anything public. But if he varied from their script, she never corrected him where others could hear, always saving her ire for when they were alone. That was how he discovered his stately, composed queen had a temper. It was slow to spark, but as time passed, she became less shy about curbing it. She never remained angry after they settled the issue, and he found he took an odd delight in provoking her at times.

She had also become a friend in the nine months since their wedding. It had been slow at first, as each learned about the other, about their little quirks and foibles. They'd been almost overly careful, walking a fine line until they truly began to feel secure with and trust each other, both in and out of the bedchamber. It was nice to have someone to talk to that didn't require him to watch every word that he said, or being able to complain about something without it immediately being taken as an offense. For someone who had grown up never having a really close friend, and who even now could count the number of real friends on one hand, it meant a lot.

_But_, Alistair thought sourly as he hauled himself out of the water to towel off and get dressed, _that's where it seems to end_.

For some reason, Breonna never truly let her guard down around him. He knew now she had let herself be especially vulnerable on their wedding night. But when morning came, the walls she'd let down were back up. As friendly as she was, as caring, as understanding, she held something of herself apart from him. And he knew it was true because she wasn't the same way around her family. When she didn't think anyone was paying attention, she was genuinely relaxed around them.

It was a little irritating. Not that he wanted her not to be herself around her family, but he didn't know what to do to get her to do it around _him_. And the worst part was he had no idea how to ask her why she did it. The few times he had tried to draw it out of her, she denied it, saying everything was fine. He couldn't even use the excuse that it affected their intimacy to pry it out of her because it didn't.

He privately admitted to himself that it really bothered him, maybe more than it should. What they had now was good, more than he had certainly ever expected he would have, but he found himself craving more. He wanted her to give him the same openness she gave the rest of her family. Maybe he shouldn't push his luck—maybe he should just take what he had and be content with it.

It could be that's where he had gone wrong with Anora. Would she have become as good of a friend as Breonna was now if he hadn't tried to make it something more? He thought probably. Still, Breonna and Anora were very different people. He probably never would have found the type of companionship with Anora that he now had with Breonna.

Alistair didn't think about exactly _why_ it bothered him so much. Telling himself his concern came solely because he cared about her. He had learned from making that mistake before—seeing certain feelings where none existed and raising his expectations because of it.

What if all she needed was more time? Was he risking what he had by trying for more too soon? He didn't want that. He didn't want to try and be closer to her and end up pushing her away. But he couldn't dismiss the thought that if he could really get through to her, find out what it was that made her hold back from him, they could be _happy_ and not just content.

With a sigh, he finished off the last of the bread, cheese and ale, and raked his hands through his damp hair. Tomorrow would be time enough to deal with this. Right now, all he wanted was to go to his rooms, fall into his bed and sleep as late as his advisors would let him.

Outside the bathing chamber, the ever-present guards were waiting to escort him to the royal suite. He repressed another sigh. There were many things he enjoyed about being king. This wasn't one of them. He didn't think he would ever get used to always having guards hovering slightly behind him. Breonna had firmly told him that they were a necessity, and that while she understood how irritating they could be, they would not be dismissed.

His escorts handed him off to the guards outside the royal suite, who opened the door to let him in. He wearily nodded his thanks and entered, intending to go straight to bed. The sitting room was mostly dark, with the hearth burned down to coals and only a couple of lamps lit. But it wasn't empty.

Curled up on a sofa, fast asleep with her head pillowed on her arm, was Breonna.

Alistair padded over to his wife on silent, bare feet, picking up the book on the floor next to her and placing it on a low table. As he dropped down into a crouch beside her, he noted she wasn't even dressed for bed, still clad the gown she must have been wearing today. He frowned. This was very unlike her. Breonna took a great deal of care with her personal appearance and he had never seen her fall asleep in her clothes before.

She had obviously stayed up late on purpose. Had she fallen asleep waiting for him?

Reaching out a hand to brush a lock of dark hair off her cheek, he said quietly, "Breonna, wake up."

Her eyes snapped open as he touched her cheek and then widened when they focused on him. She sat up quickly and without warning threw her arms around him. "You're back," she breathed into his ear. "You came back."

She trembled against him. "Hey, hey," he said gently as he returned the embrace. "It's all right." He stayed crouched down on his heels, stroking her hair softly as she stilled. "Come on, let's get you into bed."

Letting him help her up, she slipped an arm around his waist as they walked to their bedchamber, seemingly unwilling to break contact with him. When he went to help her with her dress, she demurred. "No, I can do it. You must be exhausted. You should get some rest."

Alistair ignored her. "If I'm ever too tired to help my wife undress, I have more problems than sleep will fix." He made short work of the laces and she let the dress fall, leaving it on the floor as she tugged him towards the bed. Breonna climbed into bed as he shucked off his shirt and slid in beside her.

Once he was settled, she curled up against him. He was tired and probably would have gone right to sleep, but her hand running through the light dusting of hair on his chest was sufficiently distracting to keep him awake. Finally, he captured her hand in one of his.

"So why did I find you on the sofa?"

"I couldn't sleep," she confessed quietly. "I was worried."

"Worried? About little old me?" he teased.

"It's not funny!" The slight break in her voice made him look down at her.

"You're really upset about this. I'm sorry. I won't tease anymore." He stroked her back softly. "What were you so worried about?"

"You. I was…scared. Your messenger came back and said…said Vigil's Keep had been attacked by darkspawn and that you were going to help. And he didn't know anymore than that and when no more messengers followed, I…." She sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

"All I could think of was what happened at Ostagar. Everyone went off, confident and excited, and so many never came back. I could see it happening all over again and I was afraid I was going to lose you and be left alone _again_."

He cursed softly. That should have occurred to him. "I'm sorry, Bre. I didn't even think of that." He tipped her face up towards his. "But I promise, the next time I end up in the middle of a surprise attack, I'll send someone back with news of my stunning victory as soon as it's over. Deal?"

Her lips twitched in a faint smile. "I'd prefer it if you didn't get attacked at all, but deal."

With a quick grin, he dropped a light kiss on her forehead and tightened his hold on her, pulling her to him more firmly. She snuggled against him and sighed contentedly.

Even knowing he should sleep, Alistair stared out into the darkness for a long time, thinking about what Breonna had said. It was nice to know you had someone who would worry about you, who would wait up to make sure you were all right.

He wouldn't push her, he decided. He would let her take her time and proceed at a pace she was comfortable with. As much as he wanted to, he wouldn't read too much into her words tonight or the way she pressed herself against him even in sleep.

But it was still nice.

And it gave him hope.


	2. Chapter 2

And here we have Chapter Two! Action and adventure! Fun times to be had by all!

As always, enjoy! And please don't be shy about reviewing. ^_^

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Chapter Two

When he awoke in the morning, Breonna was still curled around him. He stretched slightly, trying not to disturb her.

"Finally," she mumbled against his chest. "I was beginning to think you were going to sleep all day. Not that I'd blame you." She peered up at him from one half-opened eye. "And the kitchens should be ready with lunch when you're up."

"Lunch?" Turning to look out the window, he saw it was indeed well past morning. "I'm surprised no one came to drag us out of bed."

"They tried. I told them to go away. Erlina came in a little while ago, too, and I told her to have everything ready for when you got up. You slept right through it."

With a sigh, he said, "I suppose we should get up."

"Well, we don't _have_ to."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Who are you and what have you done with my wife? The Bre I know wouldn't ever suggest lying about all day in bed."

"That's the great thing about being in charge," she grinned. "No one else can make you do what you don't want to. So we could…stay right here, if you wanted."

"Well now," he murmured, walking his fingers down the bare expanse of her back, "that is a thought. Maybe—" A loud rumble from his stomach interrupted him and Breonna giggled.

"We should take care of that." Pushing the covers down, she extricated herself from his arms and slid out of bed. Opening a wardrobe, she removed a simple dress and a clean set of clothes for him. "Here," she said and tossed the clothes onto the bed next to him.

Getting up himself, he pulled off the loose pants and smallclothes he had worn to bed, pulled the fresh clothes on, and tugged on a pair of boots. Breonna secured her hair in a simple twist and as they headed out of the royal suite, she reached out to take his hand in hers. He gave her hand a little squeeze and smiled, surprised at her gesture.

After a quick lunch, Alistair arranged to have his men set to a state of readiness, so that should Anora require aid, he would be able to send it as soon as it was called for. Then he and Breonna settled into their study to deal with the seemingly unending stack of paperwork. Diplomatic missives, arranging to meet with ambassadors, communications with not only nobles in Ferelden, but also very influential ones in other countries, trade negotiations…. The sheer amount of matters, important and trivial, had staggered Alistair when he first came to the throne. It still amazed him how much there was to do.

Right now, he was dealing mainly with letters from nobles in the Bannorn. It had been nearly a year since he ascended to the throne and it seemed like his grace period was over. Banns were pushing things, feeling their oats, growing more vocal in their demands to what they saw as entitlements. He frowned as he thought of the best way to politely tell a bann to sod off in response to his ridiculous request for undeserved and grossly unfair trading terms.

Across from him, Breonna shifted and cleared her throat. "I should have asked this last night, but…. Was Anora all right? I'm sure you would have said something if she wasn't, but I should have asked earlier."

Alistair leaned back in his chair and tugged thoughtfully on his ear. "She was fine—more than fine, actually. I think this whole Warden-Commander really agrees with her." He laughed. "She probably missed it. Having to stay put in Gwaren was probably driving her stir-crazy. I'm a little concerned, but as independent as she is, she's not stupid. If she really needs help, she'll call for it."

"That's good to hear. I'm sure she'll be fine. She's always been very capable." She turned back to the document she was reading and silence filled the study again.

"Do you miss it?" she asked suddenly.

"Hmm?" Alistair looked across the desk at her. "Miss what?"

"Fighting. You know, battling the darkspawn, saving the world."

He arched a brow at her. "Saving the world, huh? I don't miss that particular type of battle, no. But as far as a good, exhilarating skirmish…? Yeah, I suppose I do miss it a bit. It's sort of odd to spend so much time living a certain way, doing certain things and then just…stop doing it."

"I see," she said quietly.

"Although," he added, gesturing the pile of papers in front of him, "if this keeps up, I may not be missing it for much longer. Are they always this difficult?"

"The nobility? No, not always. It's been an unsettling couple of years, though, and they think…." Breonna trailed off, looking faintly embarrassed.

"They think what? That I'm an idiot? That they can just shove any paper in front of me and I'll sign it without bothering to figure out what it is?" Sighing, he tossed his pen down on the desk. "I've always been more of a hands-on type of person. Maybe I should apply that to this. Going out, traveling the Bannorn, actually meeting with these banns might not be a bad idea.

"At the very least, they may grow a little less demanding when they have to do it to my face. I do pretty well at standing around looking impressive."

She made an irritated sound in her throat. "I wish you would stop that. You're not stupid. You've done an impressive job at adapting to something you were never trained for and this isn't easy. Give yourself some credit."

"Yes, ma'am." She rolled her eyes and made a shooing gesture, but her lips twitched. "So what do you think? Should I take a trip? Visit some people and try to contain this thing before it gets any worse?"

Pursing her lips, she leaned forward. "That might not be a bad idea, you know. When people are removed from the center of things, they tend to forget who's in charge and that there are concerns bigger than themselves. Visiting them would bring that home, as well as show them their problems _are_ being heard.

"But you're going to need to do more than just stand there and look intimidating. You'll be on their home ground and will need to act according. There are certain courtesies expected and you'll have to outmaneuver them where they're at their most comfortable." She paused and worried her lower lip with her teeth. "I could…go with you?"

Alistair tilted his head to the side as he looked at his wife. "You want to go traveling across the Bannorn with me?" She nodded. "Really? You don't mind the muddy roads, sleeping in a tent in the woods, shaking bugs out of your boots before you put them on in the morning?"

"I…I rather thought we would spent most nights in the homes of our hosts. Unless…you _want_ to go…camping. Then I suppose we could," she said dubiously, frowning slightly.

He laughed. "Maker's breath, _no_! Ugh, if I never go camping again it'll be too soon. I hated it when we were fighting the Blight."

"Then why ask if I would be willing to do any of that?" she asked in confusion.

Giving her a shrug and a grin, he said, "I just wanted to make sure you really wanted to go. I'd love to have you come with me. Maker knows you'd know what to do far better than I. Who knows? It might actually be fun with you along." He thought for a moment. "And we have a few months before winter really sets in. Perhaps after we get done dealing with nobles, you'd like to go home and visit Highever?"

Breonna's face lit up in absolute pleasure. "Alistair, I would love that! You've never been, have you? You'd love it! You really would. Mother and Father have asked for us to come and visit, but we've just been too busy to do so. And I didn't a chance to go very often with Cailan. It seems like it's been forever since I've been there."

Her excitement was obvious and it pricked something odd in Alistair—a desire to have a place he would be that happy about coming back to. "You miss it, don't you?" he asked softly. When she cocked her head at him, he continued, "Your home, I mean. Highever. You miss it."

Something odd flickered over her face, an emotion passing too quickly for him to identify it. "It's not…." She faltered and then nodded her head. "Yes, I miss it."

* * *

Once they had made the decision to go, plans quickly fell into place. Alistair conferred with Captain Neale, but left most of the details and the organizing to him. The man was more than competent and he knew better than Alistair exactly what they would need for this little adventure. He spent the rest of his time making sure that in his absence, if Anora needed it, the soldiers set to support her would respond without having to wait for his approval. The Crown's troops wouldn't normally be under anyone else's command, but in this instance, he didn't think too many people would mind if he lent out his own men.

Breonna busied herself with setting an itinerary. She wanted to make sure they visited the most disaffected banns. After speaking with some knights who knew the area, she suggested a course to Neale, including which routes would be fastest and easiest for an armed body of men to travel. The captain made a few suggestions, but agreed with most of her proposals.

Alistair watched her curiously. When she finally took a moment to stop and reorganize herself, he asked, "I know your father gave you weapons training, but are you sure you've never led troops before?"

Shaking her head, she answered, "No, not personally. But there was always a chance I could have ended up Teyrna of Highever. Father made sure knowing things like this was part of my education, just as it was Fergus's. So while I haven't gotten a chance to use all that teaching, I still remember it."

"Why didn't you ever tell me that?"

"You never asked?" Her words were accompanied by a sly grin.

He laughed. "I think maybe you just enjoy keeping secrets from me. So tell me, are you hiding anything else?"

"Mm, maybe. You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?"

"That sounds like a challenge. I'd watch out, were I you. I don't back from challenges easily."

"So I'm learning," she drawled. "Well, we should probably finish this up if we intend to set out soon."

* * *

It took two days for everything they needed to be readied and assembled. Alistair chafed at the delay, but was told, repeatedly, that things were proceeding as fast as possible. The amount of things they were bringing with them seemed excessive to Alistair, but Breonna assured him it wasn't. "You've done all of your journeying as a Grey Warden, Alistair. Your main task had been fighting, so you kept to the basics, not weighing yourself down anymore than necessary. This time, you'll be out as the king on social visits. There are certain expectations that come with that. The nobility will expect us to look the part."

They stood by the carriage and she cast an appraising eye over the luggage being loaded into wagons. "I realize this seems like a lot, but it's probably not enough. You'll find most of the time we spend with the Bannorn will be taken up with formal dinners and gatherings designed to show off and impress their neighbors." He groaned and she touched his arm in sympathy. "I know, but you'll be fine. This," she gestured towards the trunks, "is a necessary evil, I'm afraid. If it's any consolation, you won't have to worry about it at Highever. My family doesn't stand on very much ceremony with me, and I don't imagine it'll be any different with you."

"I like your family more with each passing day." Breonna squeezed his hand, and once everything was set, he helped her into the carriage. He was planning to ride as much as possible during the trip. The carriage could get stuffy and he wanted to avoid it, though he had every intention of using it if it started to rain.

Traveling like that turned out to be fairly relaxing. Being able to just enjoy the journey, without fear of being hunted or spontaneously attacked, allowed him to gain a greater appreciation of the land he now ruled. He rode beside the carriage and he and Breonna talked a lot, usually about which noble they were visiting next, what he needed to know about them and their bannorn. And on days when Breonna chose to escape the confines of the carriage and ride beside him, they often rode in silence, and he simply enjoyed her company.

* * *

Their trip through the Bannorn proved to be both entirely predictable and oddly surprising. Like Breonna said, at every stop, the banns and arls put on a show, striving to outdo the opulence of their peers. There were interminable dinners, endless hours of polite conversation where nothing was actually said, and near constant attempts to win favor and prestige.

Actually being there in person made the nobility less strident in their demands since they had to make them to Alistair's and Breonna's faces. They were far more conciliatory, understanding and reasonable in what they asked for. Alistair didn't expect that to last very long after they had left, but it made it easier to gauge what they were really after and what fair decisions would be.

He also thought it was nice that they got to see some of the Bannorn who weren't always grasping for influence and position. These hosts, like Bann Sighard and Arl Bryland, were actually gracious and seemed genuinely pleased to host their monarchs. It provided a respite for Alistair and Breonna to unwind during their journey without having to always worry about whether every thing they said would be taken as a promise or an insult.

Traveling like this also allowed Alistair to get his first real look at the people as king. They passed through villages as they went, often stopping at inns when they were between bannorns. And in each location, the people would come out to stare and cheer, waving and bowing as they passed. At the inns, the innkeepers practically fell over themselves trying to make sure everything was perfect.

It was strange for him, to grow up as a commoner, to still feel in many ways that he was still one of them, and yet be treated as a king by the people he identified with. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about it. On one hand, it was nice to be recognized. On the other, it made him a little sad that little more than a year ago he would have been considered one of them, and now he was forever removed from the type of people he had spent his entire life with.

He noticed Breonna watching him during these interactions, and realized some of his feelings must be showing through. Part of him wanted to share, while another part held him back. How could she possibly understand these particular feelings? He was vaguely disappointed when she didn't ask, though. He tried to shake off the odd sense of loss and put it behind him. It's not as if he wanted to give up his life and go back to being a commoner, after all. Being king did have a lot of advantages.

He grinned as he thought of one of those advantages. Before he and Breonna left Denerim, he'd said he never wanted to go camping again. That was obviously because he'd never gone camping as a king. There were nights when there wasn't a village to stop in, or when delays had forced them to make camp before arriving at their next destination.

Unlike what traveling had been like during the Blight, this time it was far more luxurious. Instead of the small, cramped tents only designed to keep the weather out, Alistair and Breonna had a large, opulent tent—practically a pavilion. It was high enough that he could stand up, wide enough that he could walk around, and there was even a carpet on the ground. Best of all were the ingeniously crafted table and chairs that could be folded up for convenience.

The first time they spent a night in it, he had stood in the middle of the tent, looking around, ridiculously pleased with the situation. Breonna grinned at him. "I take it you like it?"

"Like it? I _love_ it! Maker's breath, if we had one of these when we were fighting the Blight, it would've made things a lot more enjoyable. This is _so_ much better than just laying a bedroll out on the ground." He eyed one of the folding cots critically. "Though I'm not sure I want to sleep on that. It doesn't really look very stable. But with the carpet, I don't think I'll mind dragging some blankets onto the floor and spending the night there." Giving her a quick glance, he added, "It might be nice if I didn't have to sleep alone though."

"Mm," she answered, noncommittally. "We'll see."

As it turned out, Breonna didn't mind spending the night sleeping on the carpet either.

* * *

They were heading to Highever when they encountered trouble. Alistair and Breonna had finished traveling the Bannorn and had just left West Hills. They would follow the North Road until it branched towards Highever. The last couple of months had been exhausting and Alistair was looking forward to spending some time with the Couslands.

He was riding beside the carriage, closed now against the encroaching cold of winter, when he felt it. He stiffened in the saddle, jerking his horse to a stop, his eyes scanning the surrounding woods. Darkspawn. They were out there, and there were a lot of them judging from the amount of taint he was sensing.

"Halt!" he called. The retinue slowed and stopped, knights and guards immediately reacting to the warning in his voice. Alistair dismounted, securing his shield to his left arm and laying a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Ser?" Neale maneuvered his horse close to Alistair.

"Darkspawn," he replied grimly. "A lot of them. I want the carriage protected and then I'll need to take some men and deal with them. They'll have to leave their horses since they'll probably spook."

"Of course, your Majesty, but are you sure you should be the one to go?"

"I'm the best one here to deal with this, Captain. And the carriage will be safer if I'm not…nearby."

"Yes, ser." Neale turned his horse and began issuing orders. Knights dismounted around him, handing reins to those who would be staying behind. Other guards formed up around the carriage.

"Alistair?"

He turned back towards the sound of Breonna's voice. She had opened the door and was stepping out. Moving quickly, he grasped the door in one hand and her shoulder in the other, and gently, but firmly, forced her back into the carriage. "Stay in the carriage."

"What's going on? Why have we—?"

"Stay in the carriage!" Her eyes widened at his tone and he softened it. "Listen to me. You'll be safer in here. You're going to have to trust me, Breonna."

"Darkspawn?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. There shouldn't be any problem dispatching them, but if some get past us, the carriage will make sure that you're protected until the guards can dispatch them. So _stay in the carriage_. Do you understand me?"

She nodded, green eyes huge in her suddenly pale face. "I understand." He turned, but she caught his shoulder. "Be careful, Alistair."

"I will." She let go, sliding back onto the seat next to Erlina. He closed the door and gestured towards the knights who would be accompanying him. They moved off from the main group while he tried to sense exactly where the darkspawn were. Finally locating the general direction of the group, he directed the men to move off.

They met the darkspawn about twenty minutes from the road. It was a large group, but mainly comprised of genlocks, hurlocks and one emissary. He breathed a sigh of relief. He knew some of these men had been in Denerim for the final battle and so were prepared, but had there been more emissaries or any ogres they might have had real problems.

His knights moved into position, a few hanging back to stop any of the monsters from fleeing. Alistair snapped out orders, raising his voice so that it carried over the shrieks of the darkspawn as they closed in, and braced himself, cutting down the first genlock that charged him even as he moved past another enemy towards the emissary.

Around him, the sounds of battle filled the air, metal on metal and the shrieking of the darkspawn. He ignored it and focused on the enemy in front of him. His templar skills came to him as easily, body and mind remembering the movements and control as if he'd just done this yesterday. His will gathered, centering on him until he thrust his arms out, willing the gathered power out towards his enemy in a spreading circle of blinding light. The smite stunned the emissary, its magic dying mid-cast, and then his shield slammed home, knocking it to the ground. A quick thrust and its dying breath gurgled in its throat.

He pulled his blade free and turned to help put down the remaining darkspawn. In minutes the last of the beasts had been put down and relative quiet descended once more. A quick headcount revealed none of his men had been killed, but there were some injuries. The knights quickly attended to them and Alistair hoped none of the injured had gotten darkspawn blood in their wounds.

One of the knights offers him a rag and he wiped his blade down before sheathing it. "Make sure that gets burned," he told the man, who nodded. Alistair looked down at his armor. There was blood on it, but he would have to wait to clean it. Making sure everyone was ready, he headed back to the party.

When Alistair returned to his retinue, the _last_ thing he expected to see was Breonna standing next to the carriage. The relief at seeing that she was unharmed and smiling at him was quickly smothered by a surge of white-hot anger. His lips pressed into a thin line as he stalked up to her. Her smile faltered as she watched him approach.

"I told you to stay in the carriage," he gritted out through clenched teeth as he got to her.

"Alistair, really, it was perfectly safe. When the guards saw you returning—"

"No!" Absolute fury seethed through him. Alistair had rarely been this angry.

"You listen to me. When it comes to the darkspawn or seeing to your safety, _I_ am in charge! When I give an order, I expect you to follow it. So the next time I tell you to stay put, you _stay put_ until I tell you otherwise! Am I understood?"

She frowned, her mouth settling into its own thin line. With a quick glance at the surrounding guards who were trying very hard to look everywhere except the royal couple, she spoke in a low voice. "Alistair, really, you're overreacting. And there's no need to make a scene."

"I asked you a question."

Her eyes snapped true anger now. "I am not a child, so do not presume to treat me like one!"

"Get back in the carriage, Bre," Alistair said softly, his tone belying the volume of his words. She shook her head.

"Foolishness. Everything's fine and you're back now…. That's not your blood, is it?" Breonna reached out a hand towards his chestplate, gesturing towards the black blood splashed across it.

Alistair reacted swiftly, without thought, catching her wrists in a crushing silverite encased grip. "_Don't touch me_!" His anger was momentarily subsumed beneath a sick sense of horror at what could happen to her if she touched the blood and contracted the taint sickness.

She gasped and then whimpered as his grip ground the delicate bones in her wrists together and he immediately loosened his hold. He didn't want to hurt her. Maker's breath, that was the _last _thing he wanted. Breonna stared at him with wide eyes. Alistair had said he never wanted her to be afraid of him, but he feared that's exactly what he was seeing in her eyes—as if she were just now realizing the terrifying levels of violence he was capable of. And there was still so much she didn't know.

He released one of her wrists and pulled the carriage door open. "Get back in the carriage." Letting go of her other wrist, he urged her gently inside. Breonna allowed herself to be guided in, rubbing her wrists as she settled back onto the seat. Alistair caught the gesture and grimaced, immediately regretting what he had done. "Breonna," he began, but she refused to meet his eyes and turned her head away.

"We'll discuss this later," he said quietly, but she still didn't look at him, instead staring straight ahead to the front of the carriage. He sighed as he closed the door. This was not what he wanted to happen. Swinging into his saddle, he called for Captain Neale. After giving instructions for a few men to remain behind to deal with the darkspawn corpses, he gave the order to set off again.

The rest of that day's travel was extremely silent. The normal joking and talking between the men was gone and no one attempted to engage Alistair or Breonna in any conversation. As the day wore on, Alistair felt worse and worse about his reaction to Breonna, however justified it had been. Regardless of how angry and afraid he had been, he still hurt her and that was unacceptable. As they stopped for the night in a village and rooms were secured for them at the inn, Alistair knew he was going to have to talk to Breonna and find some way to apologize while making sure she understood exactly why she had been wrong, too.

* * *

He lingered in the common room of the inn nursing a mug of ale and listening to his men talk as they relaxed. The serving woman came by when he finished and he waved her away. He needed to go upstairs and he didn't need to be drunk. It was going to take all of his wits to figure out how to apologize to Breonna for hurting her without lessening the impact of what he meant. With a nod to Captain Neale, he pushed his chair back and slowly mounted the stairs. He knocked on their door and waited a moment before opening it and entering.

She was sitting in an overstuffed chair, wrapped in a dressing gown and brushing out her hair. Her hands faltered and stilled when he closed the door behind him. As he walked towards her, she set the brush down on a small table beside her and folded her hands in her lap. Coming to a stop in front of her, he looked down, taking in her stiff back, the set of her shoulders, and sighed. This was going to be more difficult than he thought.

Dropping into a crouch before her, he reached out and took her hands in his. This close, he could see the shadowy marks his hands had left on her wrists and arms and he cursed softly. He looked up her and she kept her head turned to the side, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Breonna," he said quietly. "Bre, look at me." She finally looked at him, her eyes somber and worried. "I'm sorry," he said, stroking the bruises carefully with gentle fingers. "I never meant to hurt you. It was a reaction made out of instinct when I saw you doing something that could get you seriously hurt."

"I wasn't actually going to touch the blood, you know. I'm not stupid. I know about the taint sickness."

"I know. And had I stopped to think about that, I would have realized that. But…well…at times, I still have the tendency to react first, think later."

"I understand." There was silence between them for a moment before she said, "You were angry with me for getting out of the carriage."

He nodded. "I was. I still am. But would you believe it was anger born out of worry? I'm not mad at you, not really. But in situations like that, I need you to listen to me and do what I say. My orders aren't to control you—they're to keep you safe." His gaze dropped back down to her hands. "I don't want to see you get hurt. I hope you can understand that and forgive me."

There was a small sigh above his head and she turned her hands over in his to grasp them. "There's nothing to forgive, Alistair. And I know you didn't mean to hurt me. I suppose if you're going to be so mature about it, I should apologize as well." She gave him a little smile. "I'm too stubborn for my own good sometimes. I'm sorry for not listening to you and waiting where you told me to. Although, in my defense, I did wait until we saw you coming back to get out of the carriage."

He answered her grin with one of his own. "Cheeky."

"Maybe." She pulled one of her hands free and traced the marks on her other wrist. "It feels like there's more to it than that, though. Am I wrong or are you going to tell me what else is going on?"

There was a long pause as he thought. He needed to tell her—tell her _everything_. But this wasn't the time or the place to do it. There was no way to know how she would react when he explained about the darkspawn and their blood and what it meant to be a Grey Warden.

"You're not wrong," he said hesitatingly, "I will tell you. But not right now. Let's wait until we get to Highever and give ourselves a few days to relax. Another week or two won't matter with what we need to talk about. So we'll wait for a little while, okay?"

There was a frown between her brows. "Okay, we can wait if that's what you want. But you _will_ tell me?"

"Yes, I will. I'll tell you everything. No more secrets between us, all right?"

"All right."

He rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. Dropping a light kiss between her brows to ease the little furrow that lingered there, he pulled her towards the bed. "Let's get some sleep. It's been a long day and I'm tired. A good night's rest and we'll both feel better in the morning."

Once in bed, she snuggled up against his side, warm and soft. Normally, this would naturally lead to something besides sleep, but he truly _was_ tired. Instead, he just wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer, simply enjoying the feeling of her body against his. It didn't take him long to fall asleep, drifting off as her hand made odd little soothing gestures along his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

And here's Chapter Three! As always, enjoy and reviews are very much appreciated.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

It took several more days before they arrived at Highever, and by the time the castle came into view, Alistair was more than ready to be done with the trip. From her demeanor, Breonna was also excited to see her home. She talked as she rode beside him, pointing things out or relating anecdotes about her life growing up. He sat back as he rode, enjoying her chatter without interruption.

As they swung into the courtyard, the large main doors opened up and the Couslands emerged. Grooms ran up to take their mounts and as soon as they dismounted, Breonna's family surrounded them. There were hugs and kisses and claps on the back and inquiries to their well-being. Oren, Breonna's nine year old nephew, ran back and forth amongst the men, eagerly asking questions and exclaiming over the weapons and armor. A black mabari puppy raced around his legs, yipping happily at his heels.

The scene was loud and chaotic and _wonderful_. He caught Breonna grinning at him and couldn't help but laugh at the sheer child-like glee in her expression. Eventually, Eleanor called everyone to order.

"Come, come! Let's get you out of the cold. Fergus, show Alistair to their room and help him get out of that armor. The poor dear must be half-frozen. Oriana and I will take Breonna to get changed into something more comfortable. Bryce, would you please collect your grandson before he manages to get himself stepped on by a horse?"

A chorus of "Yes, dear" and "Yes, Mother" followed and Alistair found himself walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Fergus through the halls of Castle Cousland. He looked around as they walked through the halls, taking in the layout and decorations. It was simple, yet seemed to suit the family and the teyrnir perfectly—solid stone walls for defense and a practical layout. But here and there were softer touches: colorful flags and pennants, portraits of the Couslands and their ancestors, bright and beautifully detailed tapestries. The room Fergus led him to was large, and though it lacked the opulence their suite in the palace had, it was homey, the furnishings warm and comfortable.

He began unbuckling his armor while Fergus alternated between setting it on an armor stand and directing the servants who were bringing in their trunks.

"I know you'll probably want to get cleaned up, but dinner is nearly ready and Mother will have a fit if it's delayed. We tried to get things ready so we could avoid that. My mother's a wonderful woman, but she has a penetrating voice." Fergus pointed to a washstand and basin in the corner. "The water should still be warm. I'd make arrangements for you to get an actual bath later, but knowing Breonna she's probably already had that set up. You should have everything you need. I'll wait outside."

Once the door closed behind his brother-in-law, Alistair stripped out of his tunic and washed up. Rummaging through the trunks, he pulled out some clothes he thought would be appropriate and threw them on. He was hoping the Couslands' relaxed demeanor continued. It was rather refreshing not to have everyone bowing and scraping. It made him feel…normal.

Fergus was waiting outside, leaning against a wall. He led Alistair to a cozy sitting room where Bryce and Oren were already waiting. Oren was on the floor before the fire and playing with his puppy while Bryce poured the men small glasses of brandy. "Antivan," Fergus offered, holding his glass aloft before draining it. "Oriana has family who ships some every so often for us."

"But of course, husband. There are many things I like about Ferelden, but your spirits are not one of them." Fergus turned to his wife, grinning, as the women entered the room. Alistair saw Eleanor give him a tight, disapproving look and he flushed. Of course she would have seen the marks on Breonna's arms. The bruises were fading, but still clearly visible on her pale skin. He couldn't blame Eleanor—he felt the same way when he saw them every night. His wife frowned and touched her mother's arm, leaning over to whisper something. Eleanor gave a slight nod, her frown smoothing out into a pleasant smile.

Breonna came over and slipped her hands inside his. "Don't worry about Mother," she murmured as he bent to brush a kiss across her cheek. "I've explained. She'll come around. Just give her some time."

He was spared having to answer by Eleanor calling them to dinner. Breonna gave his hand a comforting squeeze as they walked to the dining hall and leaned against him slightly, making an obvious show of their closeness. He wondered if Breonna's actions were more to reassure her mother or him. And as they settled into their seats, he decided it didn't matter. If she was unbothered by it, he would do his best to do the same.

The storm broke over Highever on the evening of the fourth day of their stay. The Couslands had been predicting it all day and making preparations. Shutters were closed, laundry brought in, animals secured in pens. Alistair joined Fergus in checking to make sure all the last minute details were attended to.

"So this is going to be a bad storm?"

Fergus nodded. "You can feel it, sense it. Look at the way the clouds are coming in, the way the wind is picking up." He pointed to a flock of seabirds heading inland. "They've been doing that all day, heading away from the water to safety. We're probably looking at one of the big storms that get blown into the Waking Sea. Hopefully it'll only last a day or two. Everyone starts to get cranky when getting out of the castle isn't an option." Casting an appraising look at the sky, he added, "Unless I miss my guess, it'll hit by early evening."

Fergus's guess had been correct, the clouds darkening and the wind rising as the sun started to go down. The storm howled around the castle, rain lashing down in heavy sheets. But inside, shutters closed and fires blazing merrily, the inhabitants of the castle paid it little heed. After dinner, they settled into the sitting room, reading or playing games or simply talking quietly.

Alistair sat on a loveseat, Breonna curled against his side as they each read some of the missives that had been delivered to Highever. There was nothing urgent so far, but it was best not to fall behind. The storm outside gave them an excuse to catch up and think about responses.

"So tell me, Breonna and Alistair," Eleanor said when there was a lull in the conversation, "when can I expect some more grandchildren?"

"Mother!" Breonna gasped.

Eleanor arched a brow. "Yes, dear? It's a valid question. I'm not getting any younger, you know."

Huffing a little sigh, Breonna rolled her eyes. "You already have a grandchild."

"I know, and quite a delightful one he is," Eleanor replied, giving Oren a fond smile. "But I would like some more. You'll understand someday when you're old and gray and want nothing more than spend your years watching your grandchildren grow up." She gave them a stern look. "I expect you to do your part."

"Enough, Eleanor," Bryce chuckled. "You're embarrassing them. Let them be. What the Maker wills will be."

"Oh, bother that. You know you want the same exact thing."

"Yes, love, but pressuring them isn't going to help. They're young—let them enjoy themselves right now." He patted his wife's hand reassuringly while she settled back with quiet grumblings. With a wry smile, he shook his head and gave Alistair and Breonna a quick wink.

Breonna flushed and looked up at Alistair, giving him a shy smile. Tensing, Alistair tried to keep his own smile from faltering. There was hope in her eyes, warmth. She might be embarrassed by her mother's talk, but she wasn't upset or angry. Dread unfurled in his gut, cold and sickly.

He was going to have to tell her. Tonight.

The rest of the evening passed in agonizing slowness, Alistair desperately trying to keep up the light-hearted façade. Eventually, Breonna yawned and stretched. "Let's go to bed," she whispered against his ear.

"You go ahead. I'll be up in a little bit."

She nodded and gave him a kiss. Alistair waited until the others had also gone to bed and then helped himself to a little more of the Antivan brandy before heading up to his room. Nothing like a little liquid courage to help him get through this.

Breonna was waiting when he entered, dressed in a provocative chemise and a silk robe, open in the front. She smiled as he entered, but it slipped as she noted his unhappy expression.

"We…need to talk."

Stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, he gestured for Breonna to sit, and she did, though hesitantly. He stood before the fireplace, looking at the flames and collecting his thoughts before turning to her.

"I said I'd tell you everything, right?"

"Yes."

"And I will, but what I'm going to tell you has to be kept secret, Bre. These are things that aren't supposed to be known outside the Order." Alistair sat down, facing her on the small sofa in the room and he reached out to smooth her hair. "You can't tell anyone. Not your family, not your friends, no one. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "I do, but is it really that bad, Alistair?"

"Sort of." He sighed. "And I should've told you this earlier. It involves you and you deserved to know. But I think I liked you not knowing. What we have is good and I'm afraid it'll change things. I have to warn you, some of this might not be easy for you to hear. So if you want, now is the time to say you don't want to know."

"No," she said. "I want to know. Whatever it is, Alistair, you shouldn't be facing it alone."

He smiled briefly. "All right then." After a moment's thought, he nodded. "We'll begin at the beginning. You know what darkspawn are, of course. You know they're tainted creatures and that their very presence corrupts the land. And you know that Grey Wardens are sworn to fight them.

"The truth is…we're not just sworn to fight them. We're compelled to. And the reason we're so good at it is because we have certain…advantages. You see, when we're recruited into the Grey Wardens, we go through a ritual called the Joining. It's this ritual that binds us to the darkspawn.

"In the Joining, we make that corruption part of ourselves. It's complicated, but basically we ingest darkspawn blood. For those of us who survive, we become tainted ourselves."

Her eyes widened and he looked past her, trying not to see the shock, or Maker forbid, the horror and disgust that might come with that revelation. He continued on hurriedly. "It's the taint within us that allows us to sense the darkspawn. It allows us to know where they are and seek them out. Conversely, it allows them to sense us as well, but we'll always know when they're coming. Not only that, but we can fight them without fear of the taint sickness. We don't have to worry about getting sick and turning into ghouls.

"And there are other…_changes_ that come with being tainted." He paused, taking a deep breath. This was the part that was hard. There was a tentative touch on his hand, and he curled his fingers around her hand. The support was welcome.

"These changes affect you—affect us—in one very immediate way." He met her eyes. "It's very difficult for Grey Wardens to have children. I never met any who had children after they undertook their Joining. It might not be possible for us to have any children."

The disappointment that crossed her face twisted his heart. Alistair had never thought much about family. It was something he'd never had before, so he felt like he wasn't really missing anything. The concept of children was nice, but in a sort of a vague, ephemeral sense. But Breonna…. She knew what it was like to have a family. And she wanted her own, that much was clear to him now, but because of him she would likely never have one.

"I'm sorry, Bre," he said quietly. "When I first suggested marriage, I didn't even think about the issue of children. At the time, it was far more important to deal with the immediate threat. I should have at least warned you then, let you make your decision at least knowing that."

"It's…it's okay, Alistair," she said haltingly. "It wouldn't have changed my answer. But…." She swallowed hard. "If…if we did have children, would they be tainted?"

"No!" Grasping her hand tighter, he reassured her, "No, they wouldn't. There are stories of Grey Wardens having children—it can happen—and the children are normal, untainted. Please believe me, if I had thought there was even the slightest risk of that, I would have told you right away!"

She nodded, shoulders sagging in relief. "I believe you. But I had to ask." She ran her thumb over his knuckles in a soothing gesture. "You still have more to tell me, don't you?"

"Yes." Instead of continuing right away, he looked away from her, staring into the flames of the hearth as if they held answers. Beside him, Breonna said nothing, simply continuing to offer silent support. He squeezed his eyes shut and began the final confession.

"There's one more very important way that the taint changes us. It's a corruption in the very sense of the word. The taint is a poison. Sometimes its effects are immediate, killing recruits in the Joining. But for those who survive, it's no less lethal—it simply takes longer. Sooner or later, it becomes too much for our bodies to handle and we succumb. How long we get varies from Warden to Warden, but it's about thirty years—maybe a few more, sometimes a lot less. Duncan…. He only got a little over twenty years.

"When the taint starts to take over us, when we can't stand against it and fight it any longer, we go to Orzammar, to die in the Deep Roads."

Alistair looked over at her with a sad smile. "So while I don't know exactly how long I have, I probably only have about twenty-five years to live."


	4. Chapter 4

We move to an "M" rating again. Yay! Enjoy! As always, reviews make my day and are greatly appreciated.

As a quick note, I've uploaded some links to fanart in my profile. Please, go an check out the lovely work there and leave comments for the wonderful people who've been generous enough to create the art for my stories.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Breonna felt the bottom drop out of her stomach and for one horrifying moment she thought she was going to be sick. "You're going to _die_?"

Again that sad, bitter smile. "We're all going to die, Breonna. I just get to do it a bit sooner than most." She pulled her hand out of his and stood up shakily. His expression immediately became one of concern. "Bre?" She shook her head in helpless denial as he got to his feet.

"No," she whispered, trying to fight the burning in her eyes. When he took a step towards her, she backed up. He reached for her and she fled, turning from him and bolting for the door. She clawed it open and burst into the hallway, slamming the door behind her.

She ran down the hallway, not caring where her steps led her. Her vision shimmered as he eyes filled with tears and she dashed at them with a desperate hand. Turning around one corner and then another before finally collapsing against a wall, shaking.

Resting against the cold stone walls, her face buried in her hands, she let the sobs come. She knew this was going to happen, she _knew_ it. Wasn't that why she tried to keep her distance from Alistair? Wasn't that why she fought so hard to keep her heart safe? After everything that happened with Cailan, she knew if she dared to love again it would just be taken from her.

How had it happened? She tried so hard not to let him in. But the man was so damn hard to resist. He was funny, caring, sweet and…and _good_. It was a battle she'd been fighting for months. And what a fool she was. She knew she'd lost the night the messenger came from Vigil's Keep and she'd felt that same awful fear as when Loghain had come back from Ostagar alone. She pounded her fist lightly on the wall and cried. After everything else, this was too much.

When there were no tears left in her, and she had calmed down, her breathing almost normal, she dragged her sleeve across her eyes and nose. What was she to do now? She loved Alistair. She was honest with herself about that now. Should she push him away again, try to save what little of her heart as she could? Or should she embrace what she had and take every moment the Maker gave her with Alistair, no matter how long that was?

Regaining her feet and walking slowly back to their room, she tried to envision what her life would be like with both choices. They were both going to end in heartache, one way or another. And a life where she let herself care, only to have everything torn away, seemed too painful to be borne. But if there was a chance for happiness, if there were something to mitigate the eventual pain….

She returned to find Alistair standing before the fire, hands on the mantle, head and shoulders bowed. As she entered he looked at her, his face so full of misery and hurt that it made her heart ache with sorrow. And she knew, then, that her choice was made, that there had only ever been one choice to begin with.

As she crossed the room, he straightened, turning away from the hearth to face her, his expression wary. Closing the distance between them, she stepped right up to wrap her arms around him, and he hesitated only a moment before returning the embrace. She tugged his head down so she could kiss him, her tongue tracing along his lower lip before seeking deeper in his mouth.

When they finally broke apart to breathe, she didn't let him go far, whispering against his lips, "I love you."

In her arms, Alistair stiffened and then pulled away. "Don't," he said harshly. "Don't say that, not if you don't mean it. I don't want your pity, Breonna."

Her fingers on his lips stilled him. She pressed closer to him, holding his gaze, wanting desperately to make him understand. "It's not pity. It's _not_!" she said fiercely when he shook his head. "Listen to me, please. I've been such a fool, such a stubborn fool."

She drew a shaky breath and rested her head on his shoulder, finding it easier to admit this to his muscled chest than his face. "I've loved you for months now, I think. For so long I tried to fight it, tried not to let you into my heart, and it happened without me knowing. And then Vigil's Keep happened and I was afraid. I was so scared that I might lose you. When you came back, whole and alive, I wanted nothing more than to hold you and never let you go, and that's when I knew the truth. I told myself that I would stop pulling away, that I could love you without fear—that you weren't going to leave me."

The slight tremor that passed through him made her ball her hands into fists, clutching the fabric of his tunic. "Except I was _wrong_. You're going to leave me and it's not _fair_! I want you, I want a life with you. I want what my mother said—to grow old with you and we can't have it." She turned her head so she could look at him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek, her thumb tracing over his cheekbone.

"It would be easier not to love you, now that I know what's going to happen. But I can't do that. It would be like trying to make my heart stop beating. So we only have twenty-five years? Fine. I'll take it. However long we have, I'll take it. And I promise to stop trying to keep you out. For every moment that you have, I want to spend it with you."

He was looking down at her, watching her with dark, unreadable eyes and she faltered. Was she asking more than he was willing to give? Uncertainty made her look away. "If…if that's what you want, I mean. If it's not, I…I understand."

Alistair let out a shuddering breath and she felt his hand close over the one she still held to his face. When he spoke, his voice was low, raw. She felt it rumble from his chest through her. "You have no idea, Bre, how badly I want that." Still holding her, he took a few steps back so he could sit, and he pulled her down onto his lap.

Sitting, their heads were level and he reached up to brush away a tear that slid down her cheek. "You're not angry, then? About the issue with a child?"

She shook her head. "No. If it happens, it happens. And I would love to have your child, but if it's not meant to be, it's all right. This—you—are enough." She turned in his lap, pressing against him as she straddled him and pressed her lips to his. Beneath her, she felt him respond, and pressed against him more fully, laughing huskily as he groaned.

Kissing him again, she nibbled his lower lip before moving to trail kisses along his jaw. Her hands worked at his waist as she kissed and licked her way down his neck, pulling his tunic free of his pants. At her urging, he lifted his arms and she tugged the tunic off, throwing it somewhere out of the way.

Sitting back, she just looked at him for a minute, admiring the hard, flat planes of his torso. She reached out, running her hands over him, enjoying the feel of him beneath her fingers. Warm and strong and _alive_. She no longer thought of the scars he bore as imperfections. Instead, they were simply a part of him, marks of all that he had done and endured. And to her they were beautiful and, most importantly, like the rest of him, they were completely _hers_.

Alistair's hands came up while she looked at him, slipping her robe from her shoulders. She wiggled her arms slightly, letting it fall to the floor and then reached down and pulled her chemise off, leaving her bare before him. His eyes darkened, lids lowering slightly and she felt that same surge of desire she had first felt on their wedding night. The want, the hunger in the way he looked at and touched her was thrilling. It made her feel needed in a way she'd never known before him.

Breonna leaned forward again, pressing her lips to the base of his throat and working her way down from where she had left off. Her nails scraped over his flat nipples before her mouth found them, her tongue laving over them. There was a slight hiss and his hands settled on her thighs, massaging, when she used her teeth gently. With a slightly wicked smile, she suddenly rose, moving off of Alistair to stand and then kneel before him.

She worked quickly at the laces of his trousers, and at her murmured command, he braced himself and lifted his hips so she could tug them and his smallclothes down off his hips. Pausing momentarily to tug his boots off, she finished peeling them off, leaving him just as bare as she.

She sat back for a moment, admiring, before running gentle fingers over his length. He shifted, started to move off the sofa and join her on the floor, but she stopped him, fingers digging in to his muscled thighs to keep him seated. Using her hands on his thighs, she moved his knees apart and slid closer, between them, licking her lips.

"Bre?" She heard the cautious curiosity in his voice and knew why. This wasn't something she did very often. It wasn't that she hated or even disliked it, but something about it always pricked at her pride. And now, she suddenly found herself not caring about that. In light of everything, it seemed rather silly now.

"Alistair?" she replied.

"What are you doing?"

Looking up at him, meeting his eyes, she leaned closer, letting her breath ghost over him. "What does it _look_ like I'm doing?" And then she leaned forward and her tongue darted out in a single delicate lick over his tip.

His reaction was immediate, his answer dying on his lips and muscles tensing beneath her hands. A small smile playing on her lips, she did it again, this time sliding down further until she could place a soft kiss on the skin of his stomach. Below her lips she felt the muscles there quiver slightly before she moved back up along the other side of his length.

She brought her head down again, her lips closing over him this time, tongue swirling and laving around him. Adjusting her angle slightly, she wrapped one hand around the base of his arousal and moved it in time with her mouth, meeting were her mouth could not reach.

Unlike what she normally did, she kept her eyes on his face this time, watching him, using his reactions to guide her. She discovered that when she pressed her tongue to the underside of his shaft _just so_, his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. She forced herself to go slow, not to hurry it, to enjoy the pleasure she was giving him. It was different doing it this way, and surprisingly, she felt herself growing damp, aching even though he had yet to touch her.

His hand came up to her head almost hesitantly, giving her every opportunity to stop him, but she only hummed in pleasure when he slid his fingers into her hair and cupped the back of her skull. He groaned when she did that, feeling the vibrations in her throat, his hand tightening slightly, but not enough to hurt. She let him guide her, trusting him not to force anything, to help show her what felt best for him.

Breonna felt him massaging the back of her head. The combination of sensations—the feel of him in her mouth and hand, hard muscled thigh tense under her other hand as he tried not to thrust into her mouth, the scrape of his fingernails along her scalp, his ragged breaths and groans, the two of them watching each other as she pleasured him—was incredibly erotic and a shudder rippled down her spine.

She felt him tense. "Bre," he groaned urgently and she understood, pulling back and releasing him with a slight slurping sound. The hand stroking him grasped more firmly, gliding in almost lazy strokes until he came in her hand with a cry.

Alistair's eyes were closed now, his breathing ragged and his body leaning forward, covered with a sheen of sweat, hand still fisted in her hair. She felt a surge of triumph at seeing him so undone, his control gone, and couldn't help the low laugh of pleasure that came from her.

When she laughed, he cracked an eye at her and released her hair. "Something funny?" he asked, resting his arms on his knees.

"Not really," she replied, reaching for something to clean her hand with and finding Alistair's tunic closest at hand. He frowned slightly as he watched her.

"I liked that shirt."

"We can wash it."

He flushed slightly. "I…no. Let's just not."

"Hmm, then maybe I'll keep it." She shot him a sly look out of the corner of her eye. "I could…wear it to bed or something.

His flush darkened. "You are a wicked, wicked woman."

"Ah, but I'm _your_ wicked, wicked woman."

Even though she was deliberately teasing him, she was unprepared when he growled and slid off the sofa, grabbing her and pinning her beneath him. She sighed when he kissed her, his mouth rough and urgent against hers, pressing her down into the rug underneath them. Arching beneath him, she started to wrap her arms around him, but he caught her wrists, holding them above her head in one hand.

"Oh, no, you don't," he whispered as he nipped at her ear. "Who knows what a temptress such as you could do if she had use of her hands? I think," another nip, "just to be safe," a kiss against her neck, "I should hold on to them." His tongue traced the line of her collarbone from throat to shoulder. "Although I fear it may already be too late for me."

She couldn't help the giggle. "Do I have you under my spell then?"

"Most definitely."

"And is there no way to break it?"

"Alas, no. I think…_punishment_…might be the only answer to this."

Breonna's breath caught in her throat. The look in Alistair's eye was blatantly challenging as he grinned at her. He expected her to back out, she realized. Well, two could play this game.

"Punishment?" she whispered breathlessly. "Do your worst."

Something flared in his eyes as he growled again and kissed her. He squeezed her wrists gently. "Keep them there." She nodded and twisted her hands together, anticipation making her squirm and whimper.

His hands traced along her ribs, over her stomach and around her breasts, brushing lightly. He cupped her breasts gently, kneading and stroking, peppering them with little kisses and licks, but deliberately avoiding her nipples. They were hard, aching for him, begging to be touched and she whined slightly in frustration. He laughed, his breath puffing over one taut peak. "Tell me again that you love me."

"I love you," she said without hesitation, and arched up off the floor with a gasp when his mouth closed around the nipple, rolling it between tongue and teeth. He sucked hard, applying gentle scrapes of his teeth before finally releasing it. He blew across the shiny, red tip and, if it were possible, it hardened even further.

Alistair moved slightly, hovering over her other breast and looking at her, waiting. "I love you," she offered eagerly, and his mouth descended to offer the same ministrations. She sighed happily and started to bring her arms down, but he caught them and tsked, bringing them back over her head.

"Ah, ah, I said keep them there." She pouted and he sucked on her lower lip. Kissing her again, he returned his hands on her breasts, tweaking and teasing. She moaned, shifted against him, trying to press up with her hips where his legs kept her pinned. "So eager."

"Yes…."

"Do you want me to touch you, Bre?"

"Maker's breath, yes! Please, Alistair!"

"Since you asked so nicely…."

He moved back, sliding along her body, hands and mouth tracing a path down. He eased off of her, stroking her legs as she opened them. Once he settled between her thighs, he paused for a moment, looking up along her body at her.

"What you did tonight was unbelievably _hot_. Now I want you to do the same thing." She quivered at the feel of his breath across her damp curls, and started to bring her arms down to prop herself up. But then she stopped, remembering his earlier admonishment not to move then, and looked at him in consternation.

His eyes crinkled in amusement and he nodded his consent to her silent question. "I hate you," she muttered, levering herself up slightly on her elbows so she could watch him.

"No, you don't."

Her breath caught as he lowered his face towards her sex…and stopped the barest fraction of an inch away. She tried to arch up and close the distance, but his hands on her hips held her firmly. Catching her gaze, he waited once more. Breonna was beginning to realize how desperately he needed to hear those three little words—wondered if _anyone_ had ever said them to him before—and cursed that she had denied them to him for so long.

Vowing to correct that every chance she got, she whispered raggedly, "I love you," and cried out, shuddering, as he touched her. He teased her, starting with gentle licks and caresses, stroking his tongue along her folds. He increased his tempo slightly, loosening his grip to allow her to move as he delved into her. Her hips lifted to meet him and she panted, trying to get him to touch that sensitive little spot he seemed determined to avoid.

Her hands clutched at the rug beneath her. "Please," she moaned, "please, please…." She felt his hand rubbing and stroking her along with his mouth. The ache between her legs we unbearable and when he slid a finger into her, she pushed forward eagerly, desperate for any sort of friction.

She could still see him watching her, choking back a cry as he pushed a second finger into her and at the same time touched his tongue to her nub. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open and focused on him. Within her, she felt his fingers flex and curl as his tongue licked and pressed harder. The tension coiled and finally broke, carrying her over the edge in a wave of ecstasy.

Her back arched as she cried out, throwing her head back and breaking their eye contact. Her inner muscles clenched against his fingers, trying to draw them deeper in. He kept stroking her as she came and it was too much, too much and _not enough_. She slumped back against the rug, her arms too boneless to hold her up, panting.

When she had her breath back and her vision wasn't flashing white, she reached for him. He let her pull him up beside her and when he withdrew his hand, she felt empty. Leaning next to her, resting on one arm, he looked at the hand still covered with her juices. Deliberately holding her gaze, he sucked his fingers clean, licking his lips when he was done and smiling at the mewling sound she made.

He gathered her close, rolling a nipple lazily between his fingers as he licked a droplet of sweat off her neck. She could feel him, hard and insistent against her hip. "You're insatiable," she breathed.

"Another side effect of the Joining."

"Truly?" There had been times she wondered about his endurance, wondered at how any man could keep up that level of intensity.

"Yup. I mean, you've seen the way I eat. For a Warden, _all_ appetites are increased. We have increased stamina, and well, it affects everything." He frowned slightly. "I don't push you too much, do I? I don't always think when I…you know…."

She kissed him. "No, you don't. I'm not made of glass, Alistair. You're not going to break me."

The sound he made as an answer was unintelligible, but she understood it perfectly. "Do you think," she asked as he started to nudge her knees apart with his leg, "that we could move to the bed?"

A grin pulled up the corner of his mouth. "What was that about you not being made of glass?"

"I'm not, but _you're_ not going to be the one with rug burns in the morning."

"Point." He stood gracefully, extending his hands to help her up and then swinging her into his arms. She nestled against his chest as he carried her to the bed and laid her down.

They went slow this time, caressing and exploring. Love-making had always been good between them, but there was something different to it now after their confessions. From the first, Alistair had been a considerate lover, but this time he stroked her to readiness, until she writhed beneath him and his name fell from her lips like a chant.

And he watched her, his hazel eyes intent, as if he were fixing her image in his mind. It sent a slight thread of fear through her and drove her to press against him, determined that tonight—and whenever they were together—his revelations wouldn't come between them and steal time from them.

She reached between them and grasped his length, stroking, guiding him to her. And when he finally thrust into her, she wrapped her legs around his hips, holding him fast to her. And bringing her lips near his ear, she told him again, "I love you."

He stayed buried in her for a long moment, neck bent slightly as he rested his forehead against hers. And then he withdrew, leaving her with that empty feeling again before thrusting back in completely.

The pace he set was torturously slow, and she could feel every inch of him as he entered her repeatedly. She urged him on, tightening her thighs and grinding her hips against his. Her hands played over his body, grasping at the corded muscle of his arms and back.

Soon his thrusts became harder, deeper and faster. She heard him saying something, but in between their gasps and cries she could only make out her name. She felt him tense, his hips jerking in an unsteady rhythm and reached down between them to where his body joined hers.

She stroked herself as she felt him release inside her, his face inches from hers, crying out her name. As sensitized as she was, it took only the barest brush of her fingers to send her into her own ecstasy. The briefest thought that her _parents_ and _brother_ were just down the hall caused her to muffle her cries against his shoulder.

Alistair held himself over her, chest heaving, before finally collapsing next to her. He pulled her against him, their legs still tangled. They were covered with sweat, and she knew that soon it would dry and leave them chilled, but she couldn't be bothered to care. She wanted to curl up and sleep, but there was something she needed to tell him first.

"Alistair?"

"Hmm?" He pulled back to look at her, brushing damp strands of hair off her face.

"Do you remember before we left, when you asked me if I missed my home? Missed Highever?"

"I think so. Why?"

"I lied, you know. I missed Highever, but I don't consider it home anymore. I used to wish I could come back to Highever to live sometimes, but not anymore. Home is Denerim, now, with the life we're making there."

His sigh was ragged as he held her. She laid her head against his chest, feeling as much as hearing his words. "I never really had a home, you know, at least not in the way people mean when they say 'home.' Having a roof over your head isn't just the same thing. For a little while, the Wardens were kind of like home, but…."

"Don't you have a home now?" she asked hopefully.

"I do. But it's not Denerim."

Her heart dropped into her stomach. That was…not what she had been expecting to hear. "It's not?"

"Nope. It's you. You're home for me, Bre, no matter where we are." She blinked away sudden tears and found her throat closed against any response. Alistair didn't seem to need one, though, simply holding her and nuzzling against her hair.

They lay like that for a long time. Neither moved until the fire finally started to die, and the heat from their passion had cooled. Then, Alistair tugged the blankets up and over them, tucking her against him, pressing her back against his chest.

The room was quiet—the only sounds those of the storm outside, the occasional pop from the fire, and their breathing. In the darkness, Breonna's eyes grew heavy and sleep started to take her. But before she drifted off, she heard the murmured whisper against her ear.

"Love you, Bre."


End file.
